Act I - The Fallen Goddess - Episode 5 There was a time when talking to girls was just about the easiest thing in the world. You were young, attractive and confident. You had smooth, youthful skin, a movie star's looks, and a smile that made girls weak at the knees. On top of that, you had a great job, a huge circle of well-connected friends, and a Tuscan beach house that was the envy of all who saw it. You had everything going for you. But that was before the accident. You can still remember every painful detail. The chill of the shower. The hissing, bubbling sounds coming from the water heater. Tiffany's voice as she told you to hire a plumber. The metallic shriek as the gas pipe ruptured. The searing jet of blue flame that melted half your face. And now this. The waitress collects your money and says she hopes to see you soon, but you know that isn't the truth. You know she is forcing herself to look at you, at the horror that is your face. There are certain things, certain sights, that make us uncomfortable as human beings, things we do everything in our power to avoid seeing at all costs, things that remind us how bad life can be if fate or random chance lob a grenade in our direction...or, in this case, an exploding water heater. There was a time when you would have flirted with this waitress, smiling at her and talking to her as effortlessly as breathing. There was a time when she might have given you her number, and hoped that you would call her. But that time has passed. So you smile at her with the half of your mouth that still works, and leave the restaurant to go back to work. You still have fifteen accounts to close. It's going to be another long night for you. You hope your manager appreciates your commitment. You let yourself into the office building and return to your cubicle. Something is tucked into the corner of the door - a business card. You turn it over in your hands, wondering where it came from. On the front is a single word:

VIXENS

On the back is the silhouette of a large black temple along with the words "Contact: Mother Sinistra". Oddly, there are no other contact details. No phone number, no address, not even a website or email address. You turn the card over again, puzzled... ...and jump with fright as a sultry female voice speaks to you out of the shadows. "Hi." You look up. There, sitting on your desk, dressed in next to nothing and smiling at you seductively, is one of the sexiest young ladies you have ever seen in your life. "I'm Tracy," she purrs. "Want to have some fun?"